


Born from the seafoam, staining your lips

by Suzuranao (IamLurking)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Blood Drinking, Flashbacks, M/M, Self-Reflection, Self-inflicted Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamLurking/pseuds/Suzuranao
Summary: “Run, and never look back. Become the wind, the petals carried away just before you can reach for them. Like the snow melting in spring, the butterfly that is always just out of your grasp.Until you leave me behind, and everyone else. Even if it means it is only you who remains at the end.So as long as you live.”
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Robin Hood | Archer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Born from the seafoam, staining your lips

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains instances of the character cutting themselves to provide blood and magical energy, so proceed with caution if it’s relevant to your interests.
> 
> BGM: https://youtu.be/8ybGJ4QT6vA

Robin is kind.

That’s the first impression Ritsuka has of the man, in between the scheming, the running.

Too close to the earth, too well acquainted with the evils of man and those who thought themselves above the common masses, that was the root of their legend after all.

He’s cynical, crushing ideas with realistic predictions and always offering the worst outcome. A fatalist who knows very well the odds their little resistance has against the Celts, even if it becomes somewhat of an army afterwards.

But his words come from experience, sharp eyes always glancing ahead and looking at something in the distance as his voice tells them to quietly stop. The half smile when he tosses an apple their way, campfire warming them in the chill that the eerily empty plains bring to them, copper hair taking on the energy reflected by the flames, bright green looking intently.

There is no judgement in those eyes as he bites the apple, wiping a drop of juice that escapes his lips. Even after it’s long gone, after they have separated their own ways, armed with the knowledge whether they succeed or fail they won’t meet the other army ever again,

he still tastes the sugar of the apple, lingering in his lips up until the last moment, spiritrons dispersing and vanishing him from the singularity.

* * *

_The sweet taste of the meat lodges deep in his throat, blood washing away, leaving fingertips cold as a flame goes out from his being, not put out but diminished as encroaching humidity does. The damage is done, and he has a duty to serve, so he finishes it and picks up the great blood spine, letting his composure fade into the disfigured countenance of a beast for the last time, letting the trail of a shooting star guide him beyond death._

_It was supposed to be simple, keep their heads down, none of these people had ever known her or her husband, locked away in their idyllic dream as the people consumed themselves, until nothing was left but other people. Something she was now painfully aware of, mouth watering for the hard bread in her basket, tempted to take just a bite, but oh the price of their vanity...that which causes them to lose the very head, etched in the worn surface of a single coin._

_Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet,_   
_Eating some curds and whey._   
_Along came a spider,_   
_And sat down beside her,_   
_And frightened Miss Muffet away._

* * *

Robin manifests in Chaldea not long after the singularity is solved. Unlike Geronimo, he has no recollection of it but that is fine. Ritsuka knows it’s a long shot for them to remember past grail wars on a regular basis, much less these manipulated anomalies.

He’s no less cynical, no less of a downer, dryly commenting on formations and pointing out the holes he can exploit in Ritsuka’s exercises.

He’s no less kind either, watching him retreat to the forest he claims to prefer over the town he just protected. Holding out his hand over a steep incline. Arm hovering over their back as they inch across the desert sandstorms, away from the Sun King’s realm into the wastelands once again, ready to steady them at the first misstep.

Robin does not mince words, but neither is he unnecessarily cruel with them, with none of them.

In the light of fire he stands out far too well, sharp eyes lit bright by the orange flames, pale skin becoming almost luminous against the deep green of his cloak. Ritsuka is offered something from his hands again, a slightly bruised apricot he barely catches and prevents it from splattering against the ground.

Robin smiles wide now, hair falling on his eyes but not quite hiding his gaze as he gestures towards it.

Ritsuka takes a bite of the too ripe fruit, a few days away from spoiling. Too acidic with the lack of rains but worth its weight in gold for these people so his tongue darts out to lick another stray drop of juice that threatens to escape his lips.

The knot in his throat is there again, but he only bites into the fruit once again, thinking perhaps it’s only the taste of the apricot in his lips. The scent of the dried, strangely aromatic wood clings to their clothes as the fire eats away at it throughout the night.

The taste of the apricot remains in his fingertips for hours after, evoking images of fire, sunlight and morning dew.

* * *

_The tendrils of sleep withdraw from her consciousness, awakening to the image of a knight, the only knight she would ever love. Of a heart as soft as his armor is hard, beholding in complete love and greedily treasuring the look in his eyes, unaware that the gaze would one day be turned away from her, and never returned in life, when it was all but too late and had only the flames to wrap around her broken heart._

_She would laugh but it is not becoming in battle. Too slow, too slow! Even if he had gathered so many hundreds of blades, he would never get her beloved sword, glinting like the beautiful mountains of Kumano. It was only hers, shining and hissing as a snake would do, with the desire of being reunited with its roaring brother, just as she wished with her own._

_His dearest, his dearest, the only thought when the sun came up and until it extinguished beneath the distant horizon his eyes could not hope to even peek at. His dearest, his dearest, as he shoveled spoonful of dirt after dirt. His dearest, his dearest, as he dove into the watery, freezing, inky depths for a chance to freedom-_

_Wake up._

* * *

Ritsuka opens his eyes slowly.

He’d been grazed by the debris of smashing rock. On someone else it would mean certain death but for him, reflexes honed by a never ending string of danger for the last months, meant his body reacted before his eyes did and turned his head just enough to make his survival guaranteed.

The scent of aged, aromatic wood envelops him in the middle of the night, but it is not from the lookout fire outside. It comes from the green cloak he is covered with. Heavy, comfortable, warding off the chill better than any of the ragged blankets he’d been using, as if it had soaked up in the fire and the sun in this era; not to the scorching destructive degrees of before but just enough to make his mind feel slightly at ease in spite of the danger, of the worry, of all the close calls-

He’d seen Robin stumble.

Back then, Robin had stumbled on seemingly thin air, prompting a worried scan from his master in those precious quarter of moments, forcing open their link to behold their contract and survey his condition, to know if he’d been hiding an injury, if there was a mental or physical curse from the lost souls they’d been fighting he needed to clear.

Instead, he found a servant that was running on the thin thread of mana that the era’s atmosphere gave him.

It was then that split second distraction where a single question ran in his mind, reverberating through the link, deafening him to the cacophony of battle and rendering him blind against the crash of the enemy against rock, of the fragments splintering and flying in every direction.

Of the expression in gray-green eyes as pain blossomed in his head and everything went black.

There is only a slight throbbing in his head as he lifts it from the mat, no doubt a healing scroll used on him while asleep. His limbs are not stiff from the cold as they usually are thanks to the fabric on him and his hands absentmindedly pull it closer to him as he sits up, then carefully stands up.

The chill outside the small building is intolerable and he brings the cape closer to him, over his shoulders and pulling up the hood to reduce as much skin exposure he could. Taking a deep breath, he lets his senses spread, sensing the remaining reserves in him. His body had used some of it unconsciously while repairing his injury and aiding the activation of the scroll. Coupled with the lack of food he has not had in half a day and the rest he has had, Ritsuka thinks he’s probably at two-thirds capacity right now.

Not as ideal, but good enough for now with no immediate battle in the next hour or two.

Next, he starts walking throughout the silent houses without a sound, not on purpose of course. Even if he was not feeding it his magical energy, May King was such powerful artifact on its own right only assassins or its owner could detect him right now.

He finds himself walking to the edge of the village, where the shadow of the mountain vanishes and his figure is lit by the twice haunting light; moonlight overshadowed by the ring of Solomon up in the sky.

Silver reflecting on his hair, seemingly unbothered by the cold and sitting on a formation of rocks is how he finds Robin. He doesn’t make a sound when Ritsuka sits beside him, gazing instead at the same landscape as the bandit.

A desolate land, the white walls of the Holy City lit eerily, unnaturally not by the ring of light but from a shine that was brought forth within by mysterious forces.

“I really screwed up back then. I’m sorry Master.”

Robin’s voice is neutral, seemingly downplaying his blunder but Ritsuka knows better. From the slightest trembling of his lips, the way his fingers curl in ever so slightly. From the waves of guilt that emanate from their link, even as tightly clamped down it is on Robin’s side.

A large frown appears in his face, not hesitating at all as he foregoes the carefulness he employs with most of his servants and reaches to pinch Robin’s cheek.

“Ow ow ow!” In spite of the surprise assault, Robin does not complain, just turns his body towards the human and holds his cheek with one hand, rubbing soothingly as he watches Master’s frown turn into something of a pout.

“I know you’re an archer, but independent action will only bring you so far even in this singularity, even if it’s such a high rank.”

“I get it, i get it.”

Robin looks at him with uncertainty, gaze running over his figure, lingering on the May King around his shoulders. On the bandages his master sports in his head, or rather where they would be were they not hidden by the hood that was up.

“Give me your knife.”

Robin obeys without question, now that the scolding has passed, his link is open once again tentatively, letting the curiosity flow freely from his end.

It’s the same he uses to inflict the poison in his enemies. The blade is whole, clean; poison coming from the very idea of the dagger as a construct rather than something coating the pristine surface that reflects the ring light.

“Wait-”

He slices a thin line over the back of his wrist without hesitation.

Robin caught his intentions at the last second, reaching out with a hand to try and stop him, too late, gaze filled with panic as he curses, trying to search his pockets for something that won’t be found, something that is stored inside May King and he has forgotten in his frantic episode.

“I am resistant to poison, don’t worry.” That was right, he had not been when they’d rescued Serenity, staying behind to look after the village for their absence.

It stops Robin in his tracks, looking him up and down, doubt clouding his features and Ritsuka would usually wait for the servant to accept the conclusion for themselves no matter how long it took.

But the cut in his hand was stinging, beads of blood coalescing to form drops that would sooner or later slide down his hand and splatter onto dusty rock, eagerly drunk into nonexistence by the thirsty land that surrounds them with every step.

Ritsuka offers his hand wordlessly, as the bright red is dyed a near black by the darkness, only the shine of the ring betraying its true color.

In another singularity he would have let it until Robin took initiative even if it meant his wound closed and clotted, but in another singularity it would not have reached this point; as he stretches his wrist further towards the archer in a rare but obvious demand to take it.

Robin looks uncertain, and yet takes the hand offered to him, bringing it to his lips gently.

“-!”

A small sound leaves the master’s lips as his servant licks the beads of od rich blood, soothing the sting with a warm, wet tongue. Lips opening wider to suck softly at the skin of his wrist, pressing down on the thin wound as he drinks his master’s blood.

Given that it's bound tightly to his blood, Ritsuka does not feel the loss of magic power as a normal transfer would, and it’s an infinitesimal quantity when compared to what he already has lost in blood from battle today. And yet it’s a boon to his servant, watching his energy be restored as fractions of a moment pass by, no longer on the edge of surviving with the mana of the atmosphere but nearer to half capacity with just a mouthful of the liquid, coaxed patiently by his lips until the wound has closed from the repetitive pressure.

With his skill being rank A, and battles such as the last few days, it should be enough to last him for a week.

Robin pulls back once there is no more blood to coax, lingering enough his warm exhale washes over the back of his hand. A single stain of blood remains near the corner of his lips, but not for long, when a pink tongue darts out to catch the last of it.

* * *

_A loved one cries in unfathomable grief, ringing louder in her ears than her own screams as flesh, divinity is torn away by chunks, until her personality ceases to be, until she can feel nothing but rage, rage in the darkness, in the shadow that bright lights of the mountain cast just shy of her in its malicious abandonment, her grotesque figure a monument of their sins-_

_Rain pelts his clothes, beads coalescing atop the blood red metal of his sword and lance. He does not want to run away anymore, oh he would throw himself to his friends in a heartbeat but the soft voice of that woman beckons him, leashing him to her and being made to lead. His face reflects distorted in the marred surface of the blade, perhaps that way he would finally be free-_

_Blood, staining her pristine skin and varnishing the invisible imperfections, she cannot see, no longer sees for she is truly beautiful now! But it will never be enough, the screams in her ears will never drown the ones in her head demanding more-!_

* * *

Ritsuka opens his eyes.

His arms are stiff from the cold, blanket slid to his waist somewhere in the night, just as the memories slide from his mind as he attempts to gather his surroundings.

In the beginning, experiencing his servant’s memories had left him shaken, unable to sleep, sitting quietly in front of the fire with Jeanne or Siegfried to pass the time.

The memories leave no less of an impression, but now he is able to discern them from who do they belong to and know they are left in the past, offering nothing but a shred of further empathy he cannot wield openly, even if his servants know he peers into their past unwillingly each time his consciousness fades.

It is the information hidden between letters in the books, the gaps of the space of hesitation that a scribe leaves in the manuscript, leaving it out of the record for unknown reasons. Nothing he does not know already, but had not understood the true weight of until they chased into him at his most vulnerable.

Still. Tonight it’s rougher than usual and he brings the heel of his palms to his eyes, pressing until pain blossoms in an attempt to erase the phantom shade engraved from tonight’s round of dreams.

It’s still nightfall, vision adjusting until he can make out his hands in the deep darkness. The thin wrapping of a bandage still rests on his wrist, contrasting against the black of well-worn gloves.

Rushd mumbles something in his sleep and he stands up quietly, carefully layering his blanket over his. It’s late enough to be early, even if the sky is still pitch black apart from the eerie lights in the sky. Bedivere’s back faces him in his own cot, lying on his side as Ritsuka exits the small house and closes the door quietly behind, walking until he reaches the communal pyre.

The fire is low, but the dying flames provide enough warmth for him to not warrant another log of precious wood to feed it, wood that would be better used for meals instead to soothe his frayed nerves.

Ritsuka is tired.

White puffs of breath are visible as he quietly stares at the hypnotizing show of embers, motes of brilliant orange lifting in swirling patterns to wink out of existence, crushed without mercy as their life extinguishes.

Mash is sleeping with Sanzang and Jeanne. Serenity, Cursed Arm and Thousand Faces must be skulking around somewhere.

He knows Arash and Touta passed out from the alcohol. That only left Robin unaccounted for, but he could feel the archer’s link halfway open, easing the impulse to go find them even if he could not quite pinpoint his location.

He is alone for once.

He wants to scream. To cry out so badly into the void and give in.

He buries his face into his hands instead, slumping forward and lets darkness overtake his senses but for the faint scent of smoke, the slightest sound of wind against rock, the ache of muscles who aren’t used to being overworked after this long.

He inhales a shuddering breath, and another. Lets panic bubble right up until the edge...and exhales, forcing shoulders to relax and the panic to die down, once more clamped in the depths of his heart.

He does not think, he refuses to think in these moments. Mash, the staff, the doctor, his servants, they were all his source of strength in the depths of doubt. The least he can do is correspond to their faith and show himself as the unwavering master fate chose him to don the role of against his will. Showing all weaknesses but for the most glaring, the deepest, the most frightening one that grows like vines around his lungs and leaves him unable to breathe.

When he lifts his head up again three eternities later, Bedivere is standing nearby, enough for the pristine metal of his arm to reflect in orange highlights the dying warmth.

“Sorry, I could not sleep. Did i wake you?”

“No. I was not asleep.” Bedivere stands there, a bit awkward before he speaks again, soft voice swallowed by the engulfing silence of the night.

“Do you mind if i sit?”

Ritsuka shakes his head and gestures at the empty seat beside him.

They don’t really speak, Bedivere is not a man of casual words and neither of them want to accidentally stumble on something heavy at this hour. But the presence of another person at his side washes away some of his thoughts, two people finding solace in the silence before dawn.

Even as guilt, as shame, as panic causes the vines around his lungs to tighten a bit more, he’s glad it was Bedivere who found him like this. He does not have to explain himself if it happened with some of his other servants, even if a sense of duty would make him anyways;

but with the knight he finds he is okay to dwell in such silence, consumed individually by their own worries, and still reaching out just enough to steady the other, so they can both keep dragging their chains with each step forward.

* * *

_Magical energy is found in the very air, the water, the earth that surrounds us as mana, and on the inside of our bodies as od, the woman pauses, scribbing on the board as Ritsuka pays attention._

_Crystals are the best at naturally storing mana, the crude diagrams stark in contrast, while od is tightly linked to our bodily fluids._

_If your magical circuits are developed enough it’s easier to draw on the mana from external sources before consuming your own, a bitter smile, a knife unsheathed. However, we Fujimaru are only a few generations old, so our circuits take better mileage with our od._

_Tears, saliva are less effective at storing od, with blood greatly increasing its capacity, he does not look away, knife pointing to diagrams, and finally vaginal fluids and semen being the most effective due their inherent link to life creation. However these last two are difficult to procure in high stress environments, running, like the running he engages in every day, the ceaseless trying to keep up, to escape and outrun her so he can make his own heir outrun him and in a quick fashion if he escapes from her no one will ever catch him and he will be alive so blood is vastly preferred and just as effective in a pinch._

_Her eyes leave no room for doubt as she pushes up the right sleeve of her arm, exposing a myriad of thin scars on the back of her wrist and arm. Mostly parallel but sometimes perpendicular and jagged, as if done in a hurry while running, he does not want to escape._

_Her words are soft, It is best you know how to, her gaze is sharp._

_Her green eyes pierce at him as he lifts his own sleeve and grabs the sheathed knife neatly set aside, be quick but certain or the pain will be too much and you’ll slice nerves and veins needlessly exposing the platinum surface to reflect his uncertain expression before looking at her, pressing the edge of it to skin._

* * *

It is not the bite of cold steel what wakes him up, but a dry mouth and a full bladder.

A dream unrelated to his servants was rare nowadays considering the sheer number that already took up residence in Chaldea and the tendency to otherwise blackout the entire night due sheer exhaustion.

And yet, it still was an ethereal ghost of the past.

A heavy breath escapes him, but there’s no point in lingering over it. Already the village echoes with the morning chatter of routine, subdued unlike other places he has been, less intense than the work cities in America, less cheerful than the city of Rome.

But still alive. Stubbornly clinging to life just as much as he does, and so he stretches his arms, hearing the crack of a shoulder before standing up and facing yet one of the last days they have.

Once he’s ready, he walks straight ahead to the kitchen and attempts to get in line everyone else, before being strong armed by Sanzang and Mash, his rations ready in the little corner where most of the servants were gathered already.

“For you, master.” Serenity blushes and smiles prettily as he accepts his bowl from her hands, making sure to let his touch linger for half a second.

He does not do it out of malice to lead her on, but because he knows the loneliness of human touch, if in an infinitesimal scale compared to her very existence.

Besides there would be a line ready to smack some sense into him if he even thought of stepping over a boundary with the assassin, and the other Hassan’s would not be the first in it.

Carefully, quietly just as every morning he reviews his link with his servants while idly eating some of the porridge. Mash was hanging on a level around his own, not quite topped off but certainly near it. Jeanne had no issues of her own, dark aura radiating from her at perfectly unsettling levels.

The others gathered around hadn’t made a contract with him, so he had no way of reliably checking them, but they seemed to be just fine. That only left those who weren’t here-

_I already had breakfast, Master._

His head looks up in the direction of the voice, link echoing with a familiar tone. He can’t discern him between the rooftops or the cropping shelves that arise along the mountain walls, but still knows he’s there regardless.

‘ _A healthy breakfast doesn’t consist of only a handful of raisins.’_

_Not only Mash but you as well master? My portion was more than that!_

The human feels a small smile tugging on his lips before looking back down and taking another mouthful of food.

‘ _Alright, I trust you. You know what will happen if i find out you’re acting tough again.’_

_My cheeks were thoroughly warned before master, it won’t happen again._

Ritsuka glances down to their small gathering, spotting similar bowls of porridge, a few handfuls of raisins to be picked at before stored again for the road, some hard bread and a few pieces of fruit. His eye is caught by the dates, shriveled up and glistening with a snowflake-like dusting of sugar, proof of the long storage they had endured in the relentless dry weather of this era.

“Can I have these?”

“Yes, go ahead Ritsuka.” Arash is smiling, too wide actually, at him-not only him, Serenity is blushing while whispering something to Sanzang. Mash has a confused expression while listening attentively and only Jeanne looks her usual disgruntled self, chewing unceremoniously on a mouthful of hard bread.

“Do i have something on my face?”

* * *

_“Until you can no more. Don’t ever stop. Not even for me.”_

* * *

There are no dreams tonight, not that he expected any.

Despite his best efforts, Ritsuka has only fruitlessly closed his eyes and lay in darkness for hours, without his mind taking the memo.

There are no blue or yellow eyes in his mind, only an expressionless lion visage the more he lets his mind wander. A bright flash of light in the sky, overpowering the light of the tower at the end of the world, even overpowering just for a moment the ring of light at the end of history.

It only brings a bitter feeling on his chest and he has let it fester, reminding him of why he wants, why he needs to live, but it has been hours and hours and he wants, he desperately needs to sleep, he knows it.

He stands up instead, half filled pack hanging loosely from his shoulder. Walking not to the nearest bonfire, but to the closest edge of camp. Where the sandy hill starts to slope down and he can gaze upon the ruined land.

There is no longer an uninterrupted horizon, the ends of the world encroaching onto this land, the ethereal white glow of the tower eating away at the earth, a sea of glowing ivory that bleeds its reality into this world with each passing second.

It is probably the most beautiful thing he has seen up until this moment.

He should feel fear, trepidation, panic. A sense of urgency at watching it eat away this reality but somehow it only makes him feel at ease. There is no time left. The Lion King has to fall tomorrow, or this land itself will vanish anyways. The sense of finality has always helped him instead of hindering.

Surviving is what he has been taught from his births, from the moment his body breathed in air, from the moment his body breathed in magic.

His shoulders bear the weight of a pair of eyes watching, observing.

It is fine. He no longer feels like himself without at least one of them.

The dried fruit has long since ran out, licking the last remnants of sugary dates on the way to the Sun King, picking at raisins on the way back. But there still remains the last bruised, overripe, wrinkled apricot in his pack, carefully wrapped up in a tattered piece of cloth.

Ritsuka takes it out and carefully opens it up, before setting it down beside him.

Long moments pass, before the slightest shifting sand alerts him to the fruit being picked up, and someone sitting down beside him.

“You have not recovered from earlier.” Robin has taken his knife, cutting the fruit into slices and deftly removing the seed before throwing it behind him.

“Don’t litter.” Ritsuka frowns, but pulls his knees closer to his body in an attempt to conserve heat, pointedly ignoring the statement from before.

“I’ll pick it up later.” Robin sounds nonplussed, prompting the young man to look at him for once tonight. His eyes slide to the cloth that holds the sliced apricot, old enough there is no juice staining the fabric, barely a wet sheen on the knife itself. Ritsuka’s gaze looks up to gray-green eyes, holding it, until half-gloved fingers pick up a piece and push it against his lips.

He opens his mouth, lips brushing against the warm pad of a bare thumb, an index finger.

The fruit itself was not very large to begin with and lost some of its water as evidenced by the wrinkling. And yet it felt like long enough for the briefest second, as the too acidic taste fills his mouth, pink tongue darting out to catch the barest remnants of sticky juice on his lips.

Wordlessly, he extends his palm. It’s Robin’s turn to stare for the longest moment, but he does not outright reject it this time, sliding the silver knife into his hand.

The cut is swift, deeper this time, parallel to the already healed one. Robin turns his entire body towards him, spine bowing as he holds his wrist with both hands, dry lips parting to take in the first taste of magical energy.

It is not enough, Ritsuka was not the only one drained when fighting against the pharaohs, so this time archer does not stop at the first mouthful, gently coaxing more with lips and teeth.

He flinches away, not used to it despite bracing against the sensation he already knows, but Robin does not pull away. He does not look up and coddle him, ask if he has hurt him somehow.

It is not the world, but his master who provides. Archer thus takes what is freely given, knowing with a certainty what is attached to it.

There are questions he cannot dwell on, that neither of them can. Not here, watched by immaculate white walls, surrounded by an endless sea of sand, the distant wastelands, the vast ranges, consumed by the unworldly boundary.

Robin licks a wide stripe on the wound once, twice; making sure it bleeds no more and pulls a small bandage roll, deftly securing his wrist without once meeting his eyes again. Not until it is done, touch lingering as he still holds his hand with both of his, gaze looking up to lock their eyes, noticing yet again a small smudge of fresh blood against the corner of his mouth.

Robin is not his to keep, he is 500 years too late to entertain it beyond hushed, wordless thoughts cloaked in yearning.

And yet just this once-

As his other hand reaches out, almost cradling the side of Robin’s face to wipe at the smudge with a trembling, cold finger.

Just this once. As his touch lingers, and Robin leans against his chilled skin, eyes still open. Searching. Waiting.

Afraid.

He can be the brave one again when he should not. It’s as easy as breathing for him at this point. It is him who has everything to lose.

Robin’s lips taste of blood. Of warmth. He smells like the dry moss of bark, and when those hands drop his wrist into his lap, only to reach and hold his face to pull him closer, it feels like stray sunlight filtering in between the canopy gaps.

Robin is not his to keep. He can’t keep him in good conscience, knowing he might have to toss even him to the side one day.

He can’t keep him, when Robin would toss himself away before Ritsuka contemplated it. Archer is a servant, and he is his master.

“Ritsuka.” 

Robin’s whisper is unsteady, but those gray-green eyes are no longer afraid.

He can’t keep him.

But it is only human to desire and try to reach and grasp the impossible in the palm of your hand.

Just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as some sort of hanahaki, then saw the chance for horny blood drinking and then morphed into this kinda directionless thing. 
> 
> I love Robin’s fear of attachment and know why is He Like That, and also loved so much the idea of Ritsuka seeing all the Red Flags of what happens if he gives in and saying fuck it.
> 
> Also servant memories are fun. I tried to be as vague as possible when describing them while letting them be recognizable if you squint hard enough, i hope you have fun deciphering who is who lol


End file.
